


When You're Strange (faces in the shadows)

by DarlingNikki



Category: Hannibal (TV), Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, Hannibal is still a bag of dicks, M/M, Sex Pollen, Tentacles, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 13:35:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1187208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlingNikki/pseuds/DarlingNikki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal invites Will to accompany him to an old friend's wedding, and Will accepts not knowing anything about the small desert community, Night Vale, where the event takes place.  The town is stranger than Will can deal with, and the shadows he keeps seeing out of the corner of his eyes aren't helping at all.  </p>
<p>Created for the 2013 Hannibal Big Bang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You're Strange (faces in the shadows)

**Author's Note:**

> So glad I finished this! This was truly a labor of love for me! I'm so proud of myself for finishing this, as it's my longest finished fanfic. Hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Oh my gosh, go look at the art for this too! foolish_mortal did such an amazing job on it! I'm so in love with her art for this, it's just amazing! <3 [Here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1185933) it is!

Hannibal inquires if Will will to go with him to a friend's wedding on a Thursday after a particularly artless brutal murder. A body is found outside the Antioch Public Library, and it looks as if it has been liquified. Splatters and bone fragments are the only parts left behind. The science team mentions that the only way to confirm the victim's gender, or you know, the fact that it was just one victim is to send off the collection of teeth fragments and hope for some dental records to match the jigsaw puzzle. It is quite a bit of blood mixed with lard rotting on the steps, depending on the size it could be one very large person or a couple of smaller people. No one, from the local police department that begged for the FBI to come, to the guru, Jack Crawford himself, is quite sure what to make of the scene.

Being outside of a library, knowing that the librarians aren't kept in cages or even lightly restrained sends a frisson of disquieting unease down Hannibal's spine, reminding him that this was not at all safe, even though intellectually he knows that there are librarians in every city and town, and in any but one specific small town are usually quite normal, pleasant people. He still keeps a wary eye on any librarian he observes in the corner of his eye, just in case, you can never be too careful. You never know what vile thoughts and ideas are going through a librarian's mind after all. His fingers twitch with an urge to cradle a scalpel like a comforting safety blanket.

The statement slips unbidden out of Hannibal's mouth, “I'm going to a wedding next month,” Will can't help but to glance quizzically at him. It's an unusual time to mention that sort of information. Perfect Hannibal, with his dirty blond hair, and small smirking smile, mentioning personal information is odd, Will wonders where he is going with this, but then Hannibal continues, “Would you care to accompany me as my plus one?”

“Go with you? As your _date?_ ” Will stutters over the last two words. Hannibal is normal and cultured and he knows than Hannibal would never ask him on a date, that how he perceived the wording of the request is just wishful thinking on Will's part. Hannibal just wants him to go as a friend, or an acquaintance, or the most likely, the patient he is too worried to leave alone because Hannibal is _thoughtful_ like that.

Will watches the slight uptick of the left side of Hannibal's lip, that on anyone else, would be a twitch, but on Hannibal's face is a wide grin of absolute delight. His response is downright enthusiastic, well enthusiastic for Hannibal at least, “Why, if that's what you want this to be, dear Will, then yes, as my date.”

Will gulps apprehensively, “Who's wedding will we be attending?”

Hannibal's expression resembles nothing quite so much as a cat satisfied to have finally caught it's prey. “An old, very good, friend of mine from high school; his name is Cecil.”

 

* * *

 

The flight to the small town of Night Vale is probably the worst flight of Will's entire life. It doesn't even matter that there is barely anyone on the flight. The flight attendants are all short with their responses to any inquires, whether they are about a drink or when they will arrive at their destination. They all share the same blank look of utter blind animal terror as well, with their blown pupils and flared nostrils and trembling hands. The scent of fear is heavy in the air, stinking and oppressive, and Will can feel it. He can feel it like it is slowly thickening the air around him making it hard for him to take a single breath. Will tries to focus on Hannibal, but Hannibal is absorbed in his own thoughts and doesn't seem to notice the tense atmosphere at all.

Hannibal longs to teach each and every one of the flight attendants a lesson in terror, one that they will not forget for the remainder of their extremely short lives. He knows of course that he cannot, but he amuses himself with focusing on the dishes he would use to their carcasses to create to distract himself from Will who is looking increasingly pale and uneasy with every minute that they draw closer to their destination. Will is slowly shaking in his seat watching the flight attendants scurry about their business. It seems as if Will is getting too much emotional feedback from the filthy animals that currently surround them.

The entire flight, all five hours of it, are spent in a terrible prolonged bout of extreme turbulence. If Will were a more superstitious person he would swear it felt like the plane itself was resisting reaching their destination, trying desperately to turn away from an awful miasma. He is not a superstitious person though, so instead he attempts to rest. He cannot sleep. He cannot focus. Hannibal is utterly engrossed by the inflight movie, which seems to be an odd mash up of old silent horror films and Sixties art house films. He's not entirely sure why this is the inflight film; it's nothing like the mindless inoffensive comedy drivel that usually plays during flights. He's not even really sure of what to think of Hannibal's rapt fascination with it either, as a matter of fact. It's a bit baffling to Will, as neither genre that makes up the film seem like something that Hannibal would enjoy. Hannibal seems too refined, too stately for this nonsense, but his attention is apparently completely engrossed.

“Ahem,” Hannibal loudly clears his throat and focuses on Will before continuing, “Dear Will, are you hungry? I've packed us a lunch since I detest the slop that is passed off as food on flights.” From his carry on luggage, Hannibal pulls out a small stack of Tupperware containers, and two sets of plastic eating utensils. Will focuses on Hannibal's face, instead of the strange movie, and reluctantly meets Hannibal's eyes for just a second. He is pathetically grateful of Hannibal's thoughtfulness as he takes the offered food and opens the containers. He smells the wonderful aroma emanating from the meal before he picks up his utensils to dig in. After his first bite, Will smiles shyly at Hannibal.

“You know, Hannibal, you are the absolute best cook. Your food is some of the tastiest stuff I've had in my life.” He takes another careful bite, chews and swallows before continuing, “There is something about it. I can't place what, but it is the best food I've ever eaten.” His eyes focus on some distant point, remembering growing up eating mostly canned soups and sandwiches, with the occasional fish fry to shake things up, after his mother's death because neither he nor his father could cook competently.

Will thinks Hannibal's cooking has the most potent flavors of any food he's ever eaten. He's not sure if it's the spices or the unusual cuts of meat, but whatever Hannibal's secret ingredient is; he is a master of his art. He thinks the superior cuts of meat have something to do with how delicious the food is. He really must find out who Hannibal's butcher is, he's sure they would do a fantastic steak cut, but that seems to be some kind of well guarded secret. All Hannibal will ever share when questioned is that he employs an ethical butcher, one of the best in his line of work.

Will still doesn't get the whole “ethical butcher” thing. How can a butcher be ethical anyways?

 

* * *

 

When the pilot announces that all passengers need to buckle their seat belts and prepare for landing, Hannibal glances over at Will and carefully begins to explain, “When we leave, take my hand, and keep up.” He looks off into the distance gazing at nothing that Will can see, “Move quickly.”

Will gives him a quizzical look, but nods assent nonetheless. He trusts Hannibal absolutely.

Their mad dash to the baggage claim is done with a soundtrack of not so distant screaming and inviting intelligible whispers that Will desperately tries to tune out as he can't fathom the nightmares the voices are speaking of. Will is trembling, shaking violently, but unable to stop himself, Hannibal can feel his pulse jumping frantically through the pulse point on his wrist where their hands are linked. Hannibal drags Will along with him giving him no chance to question this madness.

When they finally make it through the exterior door of the Randy Newman Memorial Night Vale Airport, Will stops running. He is still holding Hannibal's hand. He seems to have completely forgotten that he is gripping Hannibal's hand. He is gripping it so hard that his blunt nails are digging into the palm of Hannibal's hand, drawing blood.

Hannibal looks as calm as he ever does. The plane ride and the frantic dash through the airport doesn't seem to have affected him at all; he is as composed as he always is. Hannibal's voice holds a curious weight that Will doesn't fully comprehend when he says, “Welcome to Night Vale.”

Will could swear he could see Hannibal's shadow moving independently of his body creeping closer and closer to Will's own as if it planned to devour him whole leaving not even his bleached bones behind.

 

* * *

 

They are staying at a modest bed and breakfast in town. It has a charming ambiance, with the sculptures made of blackened bones on the lawn making an almost complete circle around their Bloodstone altar. The inn even has one of the nicer altars that are meant for communal use, since most visitors will not be bringing their own with them. Hannibal remembers playing hide and seek in this neighborhood, and watching those same statues to see if he could catch them changing positions. He never saw it happen, but he knew that they did. Being back in this town is like seeing an old friend again, and remembering all the enjoyable times that you'd had together.

Hannibal leads Will inside, and greets the elderly lady who owns the place, “Hello Miss Shirley.”

She looks up and squints myopically at Will's face and then Hannibal's, “Why, I declare! Is that young Hannibal Lecter, finally returned to Night Vale?” She smiles widely revealing horrifically tobacco stained teeth, yellow and rotting. “It's so good to see you sweetie.”

“Yes,” Will still avoids looking into people's eyes, but at least he seems more at ease now that they are inside, there seems to have been something about the sky unsettling him, which is a clear and picnic worthy partly stars, mostly void. He still is holding Hannibal's hand, though with less pressure than he had outside the airport. “I'm in town for Cecil's wedding, and I've brought my dear friend, Will, here.”

“Well, I bet you boys are tired. I know the run to escape the clutches of the airport is simply awful, just seems to be getting worse too.” She pulls a key off the wall from behind her desk, and hands it over to Will. Will almost recoils from taking it because her nails are talons, at least five inches long, yellowed and curved inward. “Here's your key, I'm gonna put you up in the attic suite. You know the way, Hannibal, now you make sure that you boys get some rest. I'm sure you're gonna have a busy day tomorrow,” she pats Will's hands, “but don't forget. The radio broadcast is mandatory as always, if you don't wanna get in trouble with the Secret Police.”

“You know I wouldn't dare miss listening to it. I love hearing Cecil's shows, and it's so pleasant to hear about what's happening in town.”

Following Hannibal's path up the rickety spiraling old grand staircase, Will says nothing to Hannibal. It seems to take ages to reach the top floor, far longer than it should have taken, because the old house looks like it only has three floors from the outside, but they pass at least thirteen landings before they reach their floor.

Their room has a single bed, but it is massive, five people could easily sleep comfortably in it without touching each other. “When I made the reservations this was the only room left. I hope you don't mind.”

Hannibal glances at Will to gauge his reaction, but Will nods tiredly, “I hope it doesn't bother you, but I am not the most peaceful of sleepers.”

“As long as you do not mind, then I am fine. I have slept in much worse conditions than with someone with only minor sleeping difficulties.” He hangs his travel bag containing his suits in the wardrobe against the far wall and chuckles. “My medical school's dorms where quite awful; it seemed like each night a different student was having a mental breakdown. Sleeping next to you should be of no issue.”

Will numbly nods again and starts to fiddle with the old fashioned transistor radio sitting on the beside table. Finally the static clears, and a rich voice floats soothingly from the speakers, “....lease do not acknowledge, look at, or speak of the Dog Park. Remember there is no Dog Park in Night Vale.”

“This is Cecil's radio show,” Hannibal explains. Will lays down on the bed and closes his eyes, letting Cecil's voice wash over him, “He's the Voice of Night Vale.”

Will is just as confused by the radio program as he is by everything else he has encountered since agreeing to accompany Hannibal on this trip. The voice on the radio speaks of unknowable figures and a glowing cloud that is also apparently on the school board. He thinks the show is a fictional teleplay, but he's not entirely certain. He absentmindedly wonders if he has finally lost his mind, and if this whole trip is a just a prolonged derangement of his senses while his body is trapped in a mental institution somewhere. It would explain the fact that Hannibal asked him here, as his _date._

He falls into an uneasy slumber that night. He dreams of a dark stag with a raven feather crest stalking him as he moves through his daily routine back home in Wolf Trap.

He does not remember this dream when he wakes.

 

* * *

 

The next morning Hannibal is rather chipper after they are dressed and prepared for their day. “I thought since our suite has a small kitchen, that a visit to the Farmer's Market wouldn't be remiss. If we do that I can prepare our lunch later?”

Will scuffs the toe of his boot on the floor, “Get to see some of the sights of Night Vale? I think I could enjoy that, and I don't think I could ever turn down your food.”

“Then we agree, it would be a pleasant way to pass the time.” Hannibal walks out of the room, going downstairs, “We don't have to be at the rehearsal dinner tonight until six, so we have plenty of time.”

Will rubs his eyes, hoping that whatever is causing him to see writhing dark masses from the corner of his peripheral vision is not a new psychological issue deciding this is the perfect time to spring up.

He's been seeing them, silently twisting over and under and against each other, out of the corner of his eyes since their plane touched ground in Night Vale.

 

* * *

 

The Farmer's Market is _interesting,_ to say the least about the subject. There are only a few booths set up that are actually selling anything, but there seems to be quite a few people wandering around looking at the booths, with smiles of the desperately oblivious plastered on their faces, chatting with each other despite the lack of actual wares for sale. Hannibal is leading them straight to a booth close to the steps of City Hall, with a man sitting behind the table, but without any product on the table.

“John, how much are you charging for the imaginary corn? I haven't had any in such and long time, and my friend here has never had it, but he loves my culinary exploits, so I'm wanting to cook him a dish of it.”

John, the farmer, answers, “Six ears of it will be either four dollars or five drops of blood onto the portable Bloodstone altar.”

Hannibal nods thoughtfully, and reaches for his wallet and pulls out the money. “Thank you.” There is nothing visible on that table, but Hannibal picks up _something_. It has weight and heft and is shaped like corn when it is placed in a shopping bag.

But there was absolutely nothing placed into the bag that Will can actually see.

This place is making less and less sense to Will the longer he is in this town. Nothing is adding up, and he may be crazy, but this is not his particular brand of crazy. This is a whole other thing. Will doesn't know what, but he needs answers. Hannibal looks so relaxed, and his calm demeanor is phased by nothing that they've seen thus far.

Hannibal is talking about his friend, mentioning some childish misadventures, and not paying much attention to his surroundings. He actually reaches out and pets a banana after it makes a hissing growl at him. The growl turns to a low rumbling purr.

This place makes no sense. Pieces of fruit do not make those kinds of noises.

But they seem to do so here.

Will needs answers.

He's not sure that Hannibal will give them to him though since Hannibal doesn't seem to have an issue with any of the strangeness presented.

Will has to try though.

 

* * *

 

They are walking back to their accommodations because Hannibal absolutely refused to get onto the public subway system, something about it being impossible to get back off once you are on. He also said that calling the local cab driver would actually take longer than walking. Something rustles in the bushes in front of them, and Will is instantly on alert. What if it's a stray dog that needs to be cared for?

It's not.

A man wearing dark clothes and a balaclava covering his face walks towards them. Hannibal doesn't seem threatened by this development at all.

In fact, he looks at the strangely dressed man, then speaks, “Officer, what can we do for you today?”

The man startles, “You aren't supposed to acknowledge me, you remember?”

“I know, but it just seems a little ridiculous to ignore you, Dave.” Hannibal shrugs.

“You definitely aren't supposed to refer to me by name. I'm a member of the Sheriff's Secret Police after all.”

“My friend, it's one of those open secrets. Everyone knows about the Secret Police, and where they operate, and to not cross the Laws.”

Dave laughs ruefully, “You're right of course,” he scratches his neck through the balaclava and continues, “You know, Hannibal, the Sheriff's Secret Police would still hire you in a heartbeat. They could use someone with your particular _expertise_. You'd be well paid. It's hard to find someone as good at what you do as you are. We could use your help down in the mine shafts. You have a way of making people talk.”

Will looks down at the ground and frowns, he doesn't understand what skills the odd man is talking about; it doesn't seem to be actually related to Hannibal's job as a psychiatrist despite the bit about making people talk. It seems much more sinister than that, and Will feels like he is missing some important information that would help him to make sense of the conversation.

“It's just a visit. I'll be leaving after the wedding. I have a life out there now.”

“It would be so easy for you to come back, Hannibal, don't pretend you don’t dream about it. Night Vale would love to have a wayward son back within her. You know how it is. You may leave Night Vale, but Night Vale never leaves you.”

Slowly, Hannibal nods, but his reply is short, “I know.” He sounds content, “But I'm having so much fun out there. I don't want to come back.”

The officer ambles away after hearing Hannibal's firm refusal.

“Hannibal, what was that?”

“Nothing.”

Will frowns and doesn't mention the strangeness of the conversation again as they head back to their room. Instead he looks at the steps of the public library as they walk past, there doesn't seem to be any doors leading inside that he can spot. “Why are there no doors, Hannibal?”

Hannibal shudders, “You don't want to go there.” He looks completely unsettled, which is entirely out of character for Hannibal, as he continues, “The librarians are monsters, you don't want to be caught unaware by one of them.”

Will catches a glimpse of a figure in the window, a tall woman, so tall she looks stretched out. Will catches her blank, black eyes from a distance, and he finds nothing human in her emotions. His brain rebels at the utterly alien rage there. There is a blood thirst beyond what the worst killers he has assumed the thoughts of ever dreamed of possessing. There are days when Will wishes he'd never been born with the ability to emphasize, no matter how useful it can be.

Hannibal drags Will in his wake back to the inn.

Will doesn't try to start another conversation with him.

Will certainly doesn't try to resist after that glimpse into the frightening woman's eyes.

 

* * *

 

Reaching the room is a blessing. Will is still completely baffled by this madhouse, and he just cannot comprehend the seeping insanity that seems to be the norm in this tiny town. Hannibal isn't at all phased by this place, and Will is quickly growing exhausted of trying to wear his polite face when everything he encounters seems determined to make it shatter.

Stalking into the bathroom and turning the faucet on to the coldest setting, Will cups his hands and gathers some water to throw onto his face to hopefully calm himself down some. It doesn't really help. His skin feels fevered under his fingers.

There are still shapes moving in the corner of his sight, twisting and turning, beckoning him to pay attention. He whirls around and tries to see what is causing this visual disturbance.

He sees shadows reluctantly trailing away from him, curling back to rest in Hannibal's shadow.

He just cannot take this anymore.

“What is going on?” He begins to stalk towards Hannibal. “I saw that.” He laughs bitterly, “I fucking saw that, so what the fuck is going on here?” His finger pokes into Hannibal's chest with each word he spits out.

The corners of Hannibal's mouth draw downwards, “Will, are you feeling okay?” He reaches for Will, and begins to run his hands along Will's arms, soothingly. “You are sounding very agitated. Are you having an episode?”

All of Hannibal's well reasoned plans seem to be bearing fruit, earlier than he'd initially expected. He is quite pleased with how this is trip is helping his and Will's relationship to progress. This frenzied anger is just another stepping stone on the path that Hannibal is preparing Will to follow him down. The fact that Will is willing to show such sublime emotion towards him is such a promising development; it means that Will is beginning to trust in Hannibal even more, willing to let even the ugly parts of himself be laid bare.

Will is blindly following him, without thought to the consequences, but perhaps one day soon, he will be gleefully trailing along beside Hannibal as they cut a glorious swath of destruction through the slobbering masses.

“That is _not_ an answer.” Will huffs, “I am not having a fit. I saw your shadow moving.” He pushes Hannibal's arms away, but the gentle stroking along Will's arms continues despite this minor inconvenience.

Will looks down. The shadows are there. The shadows that he has been seeing, thinking that they were only a figment of his imagination are right there in front of Will's eyes now. They are moving up and down Will's arm, repetitively, in the same soothing manner that Hannibal's hands had been doing previously. “I can see that. I can feel that. I am not having a fucking fit, Hannibal.”

“You are not having a fit,” Hannibal sighs, “but that is a very rude way to phrase that.” His smile is sharp, like a knife. There is an edge there that Will has not seen before lurking behind Hannibal's normally calm demeanor and handsome face, but Will wonders if it is something he should have expected.

“Then what am I having, if it's not a fit?” Will takes a wary step back from Hannibal.

Hannibal steps forward, back into Will's personal space, too close to be considered polite, too intimate for what Will normally will tolerate. “What if I called it a revelation?”

Another step away. “I might say you sound like an evangelistic preacher trying to convert the sheep into his flock.”

Two more steps forward, closer than propriety dictates, closer than Will ever allows people into his space. “I'm not like that, dear Will.” Hannibal leans forward pushing his face near the nape of Will's neck and inhales deeply. When he exhales Will can feel Hannibal's breath hot and slightly moist against his skin. “I'm not like that at all. You know me better than that. You know me better than anyone.” Hannibal's words are sincere and remind Will that Hannibal is his friend, and that he wouldn't lie to Will.

Curiously with those words, Will's anger leaves him, and its absence makes him sag tiredly against Hannibal. “Please, tell me what's going on here?” His posture screams defeat, and he is pleading for his lifeline to save him; he is pleading for his paddle to be there. “This is not normal. I am not this _type_ of crazy.” He is pleading for Hannibal to make things right in his world again, as he always does, as hopefully he always will do for Will.

Hannibal's shadow inches cautiously forward again, enveloping Will, folding around his shadow protectively, possessively. “You are not crazy. You are special, there is no one else like you in the entire world.” The shadow is slightly cool, but not cold. It feels comforting against Will's fevered flesh. “The world is slightly different here.” Hannibal deliberately catches Will's eyes, meets his gaze. “There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” Hannibal leans his forehead against Will's. “This is the most scientifically interesting community in the world. Things that should have died out decades, or even centuries ago roam freely; things that most people never hear of visit here frequently.”

An idea unfurls inside of Will's mind, and he lets a brittle bark of laughter escape his lips, “Which are you then?”

“Something old.”

Hannibal presses his lips against Will's forehead, and then steps back allowing Will his personal space again, but leaving Will feeling bereft.

 

* * *

 

The wedding is beautiful, and from the enthusiastic vows that Cecil, Hannibal's friend, speaks are any proof, the couple is madly in love. Or one is dangerously obsessed and the other has a relatively mild case of Stockholm Syndrome, which could be considered the same situation as being madly in love.

Will definitely prefers to think it's the former though, since the latter interpretation causes him to want to run screaming for the nearest safe place, a padded cell or a room only he has the key for. He's not sure why, since it's not like any relationship in his own life could be interpreted like that, now could it?

Will also definitely prefers to not think of what happens to pass for a wedding ceremony in this town. Thinking about it just makes his head vaguely ache. Between the dead eyed flower girl, and then when Grooms' shoes were removed and the wedding party proceeded to flog the soles of their feet with a stinking dead fish, Will is certain that thinking too hard about the ceremony will lead him straight to a more severe prolonged derangement than he is currently used to handling.

He's glad the ceremony seems to have proceeded according to plan, even if he's not sure the plan makes any sense to any of the outside observers to the extremely complex ceremony.

The reception is easier to get through, even with the mandated social interactions that such an occasion requires of the people attending. Will is a stranger here. He can smile vaguely, and follow Hannibal around the room and allow Hannibal to interact with people for him. Hannibal seems to know every person in attendance, and stops to make at least a few words of polite chitchat with each one of them.

To the old lady, with the strange ten foot tall radiant figures trailing behind her, he says, “Is Erika helping you with everything? I can drop off some groceries before I leave, if you need them.” One of the figures actually seems to be black, if huge radiant figures can actually have a race that mere mortal minds and eyesight can comprehend.

To the ominous hooded figures, who are standing silently in a group in the corner, Hannibal says nothing, but he does nod in their direction. It seems to be a very serious nod, with much conveyed without the use of words, only gesture.

In the bathroom, Hannibal pets a cat. It would be an almost normal occurrence, but the cat is hovering in the air about four feet above the ground. The cat, Khoshekh, as Hannibal refers to it, lets a terrible cacophony out out of it's throat instead of the usual soft meow of a cat. It sounds like the angry roar of a much larger and scarier animal; Will is very relieved when they leave the bathroom. He feels like prey when the cat's eyes settle upon him. Will is randomly possessed of the urge to bring a huge back of Science Diet Low Calorie Cat Food back to the immobile cat floating in the bathroom. Hannibal distracts him before he can leave in search of the offering for the almighty though and the thought fades.

Finally, they come across the now blissfully absorbed newlyweds. Cecil seems to be speaking to everyone he comes across as well, and his new husband, Carlos, has some kind of gadget in his hands that he is fiddling with. He stares seriously at the blinking lights on the display, and mutters quietly about scientifically significant results. Cecil seems to be very interested in ever move the Carlos makes, watching Carlos make science with the barely restrained glee of a child.

Smiling hugely, Cecil moves to hug Hannibal. “I'm just _so_ glad you could come, Hannibal!” His hands move as he talks gesturing, “You've been missed around here, and everyone in town just definitely missing getting attend your fabulous dinner parties.”

Will's not exactly sure what Cecil seems to actually look like, sometimes when he looks at him he sees a slight blond man with an impossibly wide smile and rosy cheeks, but then Will sees him as a tall black man with lush lips and a bald head. The only features that seem to stay consistent about Cecil are his unusual lavender eyes and his intricate tattoos of writhing purple tentacles and eyes. Will's eyes slide away to watch Hannibal again. He is at least safe to focus on since his appearance is consistent.

Hannibal grins ruefully, “Have they?” He continues, “Well, maybe the next time I'm in town I can arrange for a small gathering, and you and your new husband Carlos must attend. You can be my guests of honor.”

“Oh, you simply must!” Cecil waves his hands exuberantly in Will's direction, “And _who_ is this?”

“Forgive my rudeness, this is Will Graham, a colleague of mine.”

Cecil raises an appraising eyebrow and inspects Will. “A colleague, you say? Well, it's very nice to get to meet you!”

Will focuses on the faint outline of a third eye in the center of Cecil's forehead, “It's very nice to meet you.” He hesitates, “The ceremony was very...” he trails off, slightly lost for words, “beautiful. Congratulations.” Third eyes should be impossible, but he's certain that one winked at him from Cecil's forehead. He's learning that impossibility is a faint dream in this small town. It seems like each time he turns his head he sees something else that should be impossible, but is happening anyways.

Cecil's smile is radiantly bright and his teeth are pointed like a shark's. Surprisingly the razor sharp teeth do not make Cecil seem like a scary person at all, his bubbly, effervescent demeanor prevents any instances of that thought from crossing Will's mind. “Thank you!” He pulls a small pouch from the inner pocket of his suit jacket shaking it in front of Hannibal's face, “Now here the traditional favor for close friends attending your wedding!”

Hannibal's face goes back to being entirely serious, “We do not need that. Perhaps you should save it for later tonight for your own use.” He moves to push away Cecil's hand, and the bag that seems to offend him with it's very existence.

This is uncharacteristically rude behavior for Hannibal. Will isn't entirely sure what to make of this behavior. This place seems to bring out the oddest reactions in Hannibal. “Hannibal, that is very rude. Shockingly so for you. You should accept the gift from your friend.” Will smiles reassuringly at Cecil, hoping that Hannibal's bad behavior hasn't offended him.

Shifting so as to not meet Will's eyes, Hannibal resolutely nods and takes a miniscule pinch of the fine luridly purple powder from the pouch. He reaches over and runs a finger coated with the powder over Will's lips. Will licks his lips and can taste apples and copper bursting across his taste buds. Hannibal then, slowly, deliberately licks the remaining powder from his fingers his gaze lingering on Will's slightly chapped and somewhat damp lips.

“Just remember later tonight, dear Will, that you insisted on this.”

 

* * *

 

It starts as a faint inch, in the center of Will's back, in that one place where it is completely impossible to reach without someone else's help. Will notes it, and tries to reach it to scratch it, then dismisses it from his mind as best he can when he finds that he can't reach the insistent itch. It doesn't stop though. The longer him and Hannibal wander through the gathered people, the more the damned itch forces itself to the forefront of Will's mind.

The itch, once a small annoyance, spreads all over Will's body, making the designer suit that Hannibal had insisted he wore to the wedding monstrously uncomfortable. The material that once felt incredibly soft and fine against his skin now feels like sandpaper determined to rub his over sensitized skin raw.

Hannibal seems to be paying particular attention to Will since the odd episode with his friend's gift. His eyes track each awkward movement that Will's discomfort causes. “I think it is time for us to depart.” Hannibal starts to cut a path through the throng towards the door, pulling Will along in his wake by the hand.

Hannibal's loose grip on Will's hand, anchors Will to the present again, pulling his focus from that damned itch. It distracts him from how heated, how feverish he is now beginning to feel. Sweat is starting to trickle down his neck, past the collar of his suit, and further down along the curve of his spine. The path the sweat traces is a line of fire that seems to burn through straight through Will's entire being.

“I don't feel so good.” Will is starting to slur his words slightly. Whatever it was that he innocently allowed himself to be drugged with seems to be doing a number on his central nervous system. Will feels clumsy and out of control of his limbs. The point of contact between Will and Hannibal is the only thing grounding Will now, it is now the only part of his mind not being driven absolutely to the brink of gibbering insanity by his discomfort.

Hannibal looks back at Will and sighs, “We will be there soon, and I will help you feel better, okay?”

Will blearily nods, and tries to make his feet obey his command to move quicker. Anything to feel relief from this awful buzzing over sensitization. Will moves his free hand up to fiddle with the collar of his suit, loosening the tie that feels as if it is choking him, and clawing desperately at the buttons on his shirt. The top two buttons fly off from his shirt at the rough treatment, to be lost forever somewhere on the pavement of Night Vale, between the radio station and their hotel.

The two buttons happen to fall into a drainpipe, where they then float along the water with the alligators that live in the sewer system. Some toxic waste dumped by StrexCorp happens to mutate these small plastic buttons into the new intelligent overlords of the sewer system. Their overthrow of the previous rulers, the alligators is quick and brutal, and they settle in to begin playing a long game.

But no one finds out about this until much later, when it is much too late to prevent their insidious plan from coming to light.

The cool air against Will's skin actually brings some small relief to Will's discomfort. Will completely removes his tie and drops it casually where it lands on someone's mailbox. His free hand works to undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt, baring his chest, heedless of the fact that him and Hannibal are currently walking down a public street. Hannibal finally looks back and notices that Will is rapidly undressing himself.

“Hmmm, my good Will, this is better saved for when we reach our room.” Hannibal's grip on Will's arm tightens almost painfully, “Perhaps you should wait until then to disrobe.”

“Nooo,” Will sluggishly shakes his head, “this helps. I can't think. My skin is on fire. It hurts. . .” His voice trails off into a faint whine.

Hannibal sighs and rolls his shoulders, “I know, dear Will. Remember, I ingested the same substance as you. I am feeling its affects just as acutely as you are now.”

Will focuses on Hannibal looking for signs that he feels as bad as Will himself does. When he looks closely he can see them. On Hannibal's brow there is a faint sheen of sweat building, and his fingers twitch against Will's skin almost caressing the exposed flesh. Will can also see Hannibal's shadow rolling in uncharacteristically uncontrolled waves, crashing outwards from Hannibal's body to cover Will's own normal shadow. He can see how on the edge Hannibal looks. He looks like he is ready to pounce on Will and only his pride in his self control is keeping him in check. “I see,” Will moans. His focus on Hannibal makes him want to wreck his perfect control. Will just wants to tug at his layers and lay Hannibal bare.

He doesn't though, but it's a close thing.

Hannibal growls at Will and tugs on his arm urging Will to move quicker, since they are now only a couple of blocks away from their room. Will can't keep up though, whatever this is it is affecting him so rapidly that he just wants to give up and give in to whatever his body is urging him to do. Will's feet tangle in each other and he stumbles and starts to fall face first onto the unforgiving asphalt.

Hannibal moves unnaturally quick and catches Will before he hits the ground though. Hannibal lets go of Wills arm and instead grabs Will and picks him up effortlessly and begins to carry him to the hotel without breaking his pace.

Will rests his forehead against the crook of Hannibal's neck. The extra point of contact grounds Will further, and he finally realizes that his cock has grown hard without him even realizing it before now. He shifts in Hannibal's arms hoping that Hannibal does not notice this embarrassing development. He does not think that Hannibal would welcome Will's desire. It would be just like the horrible incident where he kissed Alana all over again. Will is not ready for that kind of rejection again.

Being told you're too unstable, even if it's true, is damaging to one's self esteem.

Will's breath tickles Hannibal's neck, and Hannibal shifts slightly. His shadow seems to have slightly calmed going from rolling waves to almost hypnotically seductive undulations. Will's gaze follows Hannibal's shadow and vaguely he wonders what the tentacle like appendages would feel like running along his heated skin. He knows they felt somewhat cool when he wasn't under the affects of the drug, and he wonders now if they would feel like icy relief. He wonders what they would feel like moving along his exposed chest to reach down into his slacks to wrap around his aching cock.

Will licks his lips unconsciously and his tongue happens to run across the tantalizing strip of Hannibal's skin above Hannibal's collar, tasting sweat and the faint hint of copper. Without thinking Will begins to trace his lips over Hannibal's neck, making the taste of copper and salt flood his mouth.

Will doesn't even notice that the bone statues outside of their hotel are now lining the walk, almost as if they were an honor guard, when they finally arrive in the driveway. He doesn't notice anything until they are up all thirteen sets of stairs and Hannibal's tentacles move to open their room's door. Will's teeth bite down on Hannibal's neck and Will begins to babble, “I want you. Please Hannibal, I want you in me. I want to touch you. You taste so good.” Will pushes and pulls at Hannibal's still mostly immaculate clothing, “Please...”

Hannibal growls, “I will give you what you want.” He pants and grits his teeth, “But please remember, when you come back to yourself, that you asked me for this.”

With those words Hannibal drops Will onto the bed and looks down upon Will and watches as he writhes against the silken sheets reaching towards Hannibal trying to pull him down to join him. “Please, please, I need you, Hannibal...” Will's words trail off into another loud moan.

Hannibal smirks, and quickly begins to pull off his suit, laying it carefully in a chair so it won't crease. “I'll be right there, dear boy, and then I am going to fuck you into the mattress. Have you ever been fucked by a flexible appendage?” Darkly Hannibal continues, “I think I will ruin you for anyone else.”

Will shivers at the thought and starts to claw at his own clothing throwing his ruined shirt into a corner, and kicking his pants and underwear off of the edge of the bed. His hands make a grabbing motion, and words continue to fall heedlessly from his lips, “I want you to spread me wide open. I want to wrap my lips around your cock and let you fuck my face until I can't talk. Please Hannibal, I need you. Please, please, please.”

Hannibal drops down onto the bed, straddling Will's spread thighs. He rakes his eyes over the feast laid out willing and wanton before him, and wolfishly smirks. His fingers trace lightly up Will's sides tracing arcane symbols in languages Will does not know. “Look at you, all perfect white flesh waiting for my touch.” Will's body shivers beneath Hannibal's skilled hands. “I want to tear you apart.” With those last words Hannibal leans forward and catches Will's lips with his own. He licks and bites and sucks his way past Will's rosy parted lips and runs his tongue along the roof of Will's open mouth.

Will pants and attempts to rise up to meet Hannibal and press their chest together, but while Will was distracted by the wet slide of tongues and lips, Hannibal had stopped running his hands up Will's sides and had instead moved to hold Will's arms pinned down above his head. Holding Will still like a month pinned to a display case, writhing against the strength that Hannibal normally hid beneath his bespoke suits.

“Please, Hannibal, don't tease me.” Will pushes against Hannibal, moving to nip along Hannibal's jawline. “Don't you want to fuck me? Split me open? Tear me apart?” Will's tone is dark and almost angry, and is most definitely trying to goad Hannibal into giving him some form of relief from the fire burning inside of him. “Ruin me for anyone else, so I'll only crave you?”

Hannibal tightens his grip on Will's arms, bruises are already beginning to blossom, deep purple like the sky that day, under Hannibal's unrelenting grip. Hannibal doesn't care. His shadow begins to creep along Will's exposed flesh, cool and dry, seeking the spots that make Will squirm with clinical precision. A thin tendril snakes between Will's thighs, a line of sweet release from madness, heading straight to Will's puckered hole where it begins to tentatively probe along the edges of. Will gasps and tries to buck his hips, but Hannibal's grip is quite strong.

More tentacles move along Will's body, two wrap around his ankles and another two wrap around his knees spreading his legs as far open as they can hold them, it is almost past the point of comfort for Will's body, but the hint of pain makes it all the sweeter when the tentacle probing his entrance secretes some slick liquid and pushes into his eager hole. “Yes!” He grunts before starting to babble again, “More, please, Hannibal, I need more, that's not enough.”

Hannibal smirks and another thin tentacle pushes it's way into Will's body. “Do you like that? Being fucked by my shadow? I'm going to fill you so full that your hole could take my fist. Would you like that?”

Will squirms and nods, “Anything, anything, please just fuck me.”

Hannibal smirks, “You're going to regret saying that in the morning.” A much wider tentacle begins to probe Will's hole, joining the other ones already impaling him. This one burns as it pushes in, stretching Will wide open. Will screams and Hannibal catches the sound with his mouth, muffling the noises that Will is desperately making.

Hannibal shifts and breaks contact with Will's lips, moving himself upward against Will's body, coming to a rest with his engorged cock resting against Will's closed lips. Hannibal pushes with his hips, smearing precum on Will's lips, “Open your mouth.”

Will blinks confusedly for a second, then realizes what Hannibal is asking him to do, and opens his mouth wide and wraps his lips around the head of Hannibal's cock. Hannibal lets a hissing sibilant groan escape his lips, then violently thrusts his cock into Will's mouth not stopping until he feels Will's nose rest flush against his thick thatch of pubic hair. Hannibal allows his shadows to take over holding Will's arms down, and tangles his hands in Will's damp curls. He holds Will's head down on his cock, feeling Will's throat muscles fluttering against the intrusion, then slowly pulls Will's head back allowing Will a brief moment to catch his breath.

Another tentacle pushes into Will's now stuffed asshole, stretching his body further, filling him fuller than he has ever been in his entire life. Will wantonly moans and Hannibal takes that as a signal to roughly shove Will's mouth back down on his cock. This time Hannibal holds Will's head down longer, and when he pulls back Will gasps for a second, trying to stop himself from gagging. Hannibal doesn't give him enough time to orient himself, instead he roughly thrusts again uncaring of the pain he is currently causing Will.

Hannibal continues his punishing pace. Forcing Will's head down, choking him on the thick girth of Hannibal's cock, then allowing a brief breath, only to repeat himself. Hannibal's hands are harshly pulling at Will's scalp and tears gather in the corner of Will's eyes.

But Will's hips continue to buck with each thrust of the tentacles in his hole, and his erection never flags, instead it continues to weep precum onto his stomach, creating a sticky mess.

When Hannibal finally cums, he pulls all the way out of Will's mouth and shoots streams of pearly white cum directly on Will's face and swollen lips.

Will blinks and moans, with his voice sounding like he is making sounds around broken glass lodged in his throat. He whimpers, and weakly starts to beg Hannibal, “Please...oh fuck...Hannibal! Uggghh, please touch my cock. I need to cum. Hannibal...” His words trail back off into strangled, gasping moans.

These moans and the wet squelching sound of Hannibal's appendages pounding into Will's body are like sweet music to Hannibal's ears. This is a masterpiece he is making in the destruction of a good man's morals.

Will's hips continue to buck as Hannibal's tentacles relentless assault on his now bright red and abused hole doesn't falter. Instead, Hannibal watches Will's face, and begins to gently stroke along Will's sore scalp. “Do you think you can take one more?” Hannibal watches Will, looking for any hesitation. “If you can take one more, I will allow you to cum.” Hannibal smirks, “You want to come don't you?”

Will nods frantically, “Oh please, oh please, Hannibal, fuck, yes, anything!”

Another tentacle pushes into Will.

Will feels like he is being fucked by a ruthless machine, as each of the tentacles inside of him move independently inside of him, caressing his insides. One seems to take a particular pleasure in teasing brushing against his prostate, but never giving enough pressure to make it truly satisfying to Will. Will just allows Hannibal to have his way with his body, anything to get rid of the ridiculous pressure he's been feeling since the incident at the wedding reception.

He would allow Hannibal anything. He would do absolutely anything Hannibal asked if Hannibal would _please_ just touch his aching and neglected cock.

Will doesn't even recognize that these statements are falling hoarsely from his lips. Vows and promises, and words that he doesn't even consciously realize that he means escape past his lips, letting Hannibal know each and every desire that Will had tried to keep secret from Hannibal.

Finally, a tendril of shadow wraps itself around Will's cock. A few hard jerks of it along Will's length, and Will is pushed over the edge into having quite literally the strongest orgasm of his life. His eyes squeeze shut, and he swears he can see vast galaxies blazing into life behind his eyelids. He sags against the hold of Hannibal's tentacles as he shoots cum on the the sticky mess already congealing on his stomach.

Will feels the tentacles spreading him wide withdraw from his body, and the punishing grip on his legs and arms abates. Hannibal reaches up and kisses along the bruises on Will's arms. After each marking is tenderly kissed, Hannibal moves to cradle Will with his body, and traces his fingers through the mess on Will's stomach. “You did very, very good, dearest. Are you ruined for allowing anyone else to touch your _beautifully_ responsive body? I hope so... You are mine, you know. I won't let you escape me, my mongoose.” Hannibal buries his nose in Will's sweaty curls, still talking, still murmuring promises to Will.

Will wearily drifts off to sleep listening to Hannibal's voice saying what might be the creepiest endearments he's ever heard in his life.

They don't seem so scary coming from Hannibal though.

 

* * *

 

Day breaks over the sleepy town, the sun baths the world in bright light, light that shines brightly through the large picture window directly onto Will's sleeping face. His eyelids twitch and blink once, then twice, in rapid succession. Blearily, feeling like he has the worst hangover of his life, Will wakes up. There's an arm thrown casually possessive across his chest.

For a brief moment, Will can't remember anything about last night, but then the memories _surface._ All of the blood in his body seems to rush to his face, and he jerks away from the arm around him. He jerks away so violently that he lands in the floor beside the bed. He just cannot believe what happened. All of it was out of character for him, all of it was severely out of character for _Hannibal._ What the hell happened? What was in that drug that they were dosed with at the wedding?

Will buries his face in his hands, utterly mortified at how pathetically needy he had been last night. The things he had told Hannibal. His darkest dreams; his hopes. Hannibal is never going to want to talk to him again. He will be without a paddle to help him hold steady, once again.

Hannibal watches Will's breakdown silently. The moment Will's heartbeat had changed from the slow and steady beat of sleep to the rapid pulse of impending panic, Hannibal had known that Will was finally awake. Hannibal raises an arm to prop his head up and gaze down at his poor dear Will, panicking and so very frightened in the floor. As so very amusing as it is, to wind Will up and watch him go, Hannibal knows he needs to pull Will away from his spiraling thoughts before he works himself into a full-blown anxiety attack. He's already dangerously close to doing so. Hannibal clears his throat, “Will, my mongoose, would you not be more comfortable in the bed,” he pauses, “than on the cold hard floor?”

Will's hands drop away from his face, and Hannibal can see the embarrassment and confusion written plainly across his face. Will looks like a beaten dog, waiting on the next kick, too broken to resist. Hannibal isn't going to deliver it, instead he smiles and pats the empty area of the bed next to him. Gingerly, Will picks himself off of the floor and crawls back into the bed to lie on his side facing Hannibal. His voice is quiet when he finally speaks, “What was that last night? I felt like I was on fire and the only thing that would put it out was you?”

“It was pollen from a plant that grows locally. It contains powerful pheromones that only become active when there is a strong emotional component between affected parties. It is traditional to give out at weddings here, as a gift to other couples, to help cement their bonds.”

“Wait, what? Strong emotional component?”

Hannibal seems reluctant to continue, but eventually he does, “Yes, emotional component, like if they are strongly attracted to each other already. It will have no more effect than pure water if there is no emotion of that sort between the parties dosed with it.”

Shocked, Will's eyes widen. He gazes at Hannibal's face closely before hesitantly querying, “Hannibal, are you interested in me, as more than a friend then?”

Hannibal nods, “I am, my mongoose. You are exquisitely unique.”

Will's mouth opens and closes several times without a single sound escaping. Finally a soft “Oh...” and then Will leans forward to touch his lips to Hannibal's carefully. They are dry and so very soft. Will runs his tongue along them, tasting the faint traces of copper and juicy apple, and the faint taste of sour morning breath. Hannibal's hand moves slowly down Will's side, stroking lazily over pale skin left tantalizingly bare. The kiss deepens and they loose track of time as they intertwine on the bed, lazily exploring each other's mouths.

Finally, Hannibal pulls away and his hand glides up Will's body to rest against his bestubbled cheek, his thumb trailing in lazy circles against the stubble. “If we don't get out of bed, we are going to miss our flight.” Hannibal chuckles, “I don't think Uncle Jack would be pleased with us if you did not show up to work on Monday.”

Will sighs, “You're right.” He leans forward and catches Hannibal's lips one final time before rolling away and getting out of the bed to perform his morning ablutions and repack his belongings.

 

* * *

 

When they make it downstairs to the lobby area, Miss Shirley is sitting behind the check in desk with a sly smile on her wrinkled face. “Well boys, seemed like you had a good night last night.” She chuckles hoarsely and takes a deep draw from her cigarette. The ash on the end is incredibly long, Will wonders how exactly she is managing to move the hand holding the cigarette without the ash falling off. Just another small impossibility making itself known in Night Vale, it seems. She continues, “The faceless old woman that lives here left a note behind complaining about you two. She said you were much too loud last night, and that you should be quieter. You interrupted her while she was working on rearranging the words in the books in the building. She said you were very rude indeed.”

“Faceless old woman?” Will looks at Miss Shirley, trying to see if this is some kind of joke, but she seems to be utterly serious. Will bites his lip and looks at Hannibal.

“We did not mean to offend her. Please make sure she knows this fact.” Hannibal looks calm and unruffled by the mention of their activities, but Will is embarrassed by the fact that they were apparently so loud last night that they bothered the other residents of the inn.

Miss Shirley carelessly waves her hand, “Oh, what a cute boy this one is Hannibal, look at that charming shade of red he's turning. He's a keeper.” She turns to address Will, “Eh, don't worry about the faceless old woman, she's a prude. Nothing wrong with being loud, it shows that you're enjoying yourself.” She reaches out and playfully pinches his cheek.

Hannibal politely steps forward drawing Miss Shirley's attention back to him. “Now I am afraid we must be saying goodbye, Miss Shirley, we do have a flight to catch after all.”

“You mean you simply must get this one home and take him back to bed again, don't you, boy?” Miss Shirley grins lecherously and butts out her cigarette in a nearby ashtray. “Don't be gone for so long. I want you to come back and visit me again, and make sure that you bring this one with you.”

“I promise that I shall endeavor to do so. Goodbye, ma'am.”

Will waves and Hannibal slides the key across the counter to Miss Shirley, and they depart for the airport.

* * *

 

The run through the airport, seems slightly less terrifying the second time Will has to do it. The insidious whispers seem to be begging them to stay, without the horrible threats of their arrival. It's not awful. Will isn't pushed to the point of panic, but nonetheless he is glad to get to sit down on the plane. His legs burn from the exertion. They are the only passengers present on the flight back to Baltimore. It looks like leaving Night Vale is quite an unusual occurrence. Will is glad to be going back home to see his dogs, he wonders if Alana was slipping them extra treats, spoiling them rotten, as she normally does while she pet sits for Will. Probably, but it won't make the dogs any less glad to finally get to see Will. They pine for him when he's away.

Will reclines his seat and reaches out for Hannibal's hand, lacing their fingers together. He smiles happily as they just seem to fit together despite all outward evidence to the contrary. Hannibal is an anchor, and Will is so very glad that he got to spend the weekend with Hannibal at his friend's wedding. This trip has turned out to be the stuff of his best fantasies and dreams come true against everything that Will knows usually happens in his life.

Will knows that thinking about how depressing and isolated his life usually is, probably isn't the action of a completely healthy mind, but he can't help but wonder how someone as amazing as Hannibal came to be interested in him. He sighs and rests his head against Hannibal's shoulder and looks out the window. The flight is strangely calm, no turbulence at all, which is odd since the entire flight in was nothing but terrifying turbulence, the worst plane ride of Will's entire life. This flight is actually normal. The two flight attendants were courteous and polite. The inflight movie is some asinine comedy starring Will Ferrell.

Everything is normal.

Will's eyes drift closed and he falls peacefully asleep.

Hannibal watches, and thinks on how to proceed with his plans. After all, his mongoose is not yet freed. The scales must fall away from his eyes, and he must live up to his full potential.

 

* * *

 

On Monday, Will is back at Quantico, looking at the results from the dental records that they had managed to find for the corpse in Antioch, VA. Two victims, one male, one female. The two had been dating for several months. No enemies to think of.

Will closes his eyes and lets the silver pendulum in his mind swing back and forth, sending him back to the crime scene. The sheer alien feral rage washes back over him again. He is furious at them. THEY dared to defile the great works held within! Their filth touched the shelves and knocked over a copy of Shakespeare's works breaking the spine and crumbling pages. They deserve it. They didn't belong here. They DID NOT care about the knowledge, the power of the tomes housed. They do not deserve to live another day, with another chance to defile greatness.

Will's eyes open, and he is himself again, instead of some feral creature. He thinks of Hannibal's fear of the librarians in Night Vale, and his own glimpse into one's emotions, and an idea sprouts. He blinks to completely clear his vision of his too vivid imaginings, “I think that one of the librarians did it.” He looks at the pictures of the scene. The smears left behind on the pavement. “I think they disrespected the books, the knowledge, the power of the library, and one of them snapped.”

Will thinks of Hannibal. He's not sure whether he should laugh or cry when he realizes that one of Hannibal's fears were the perpetrators of the crime that just happened to bring them together. Will's stomach rumbles and he wishes it was time for him to go back to Baltimore to see Hannibal again.

He could use a good meal.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr! pinkglitterygoth.tumblr.com


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